**Diary Entry**
Youve landed yourself in it, mate
George wasnt in a hurry to go home after work. The cramped rented flat barely counted as onejust a temporary stopgap. He took the long way round, driving through the city. Rain lashed against the windscreen, and the wind tore leaves from the trees. One yellow leaf had caught in the wiper on the passenger side. Well, that was itIndian summer was over. His dad used to say, “The summers only as good as the women who name it.”
Dad. He was no saint, loved a drink too much. Mum would scold, but George secretly liked it when his father came home tipsy. Hed turn soft, slipping George a fiver or two. The next day after school, hed dash to the shop to chase his dreambuying a pocketknife like Simons or a bottle of Coke with crisps.
Those were the days. Everything felt simple and exciting, his parents always there to protect, explain, advise. And back then, there was a girlLily. Fragile, with pale blonde hair and clear blue eyes. A strong breeze mightve carried her away, so he always held her hand.
But they never had the chance to grow into something deeper. He kissed her only oncejust a quick press of lips. All hed wanted was to walk far, far away, hand in hand with Lily.
Her father was military. Shed transferred to their school in Year 7, then moved again in Year 10 when her dad got reassignedthis time to Manchester.
How many times had he thought of calling or texting her? But what then? They werent coming back, and hed never end up in Manchester. Why torture himself with hope? She mustve felt the sameshe never reached out either.
Yet her memory clung stubbornly to his heart. He only dated girls who reminded him of Lily, but none lived up to the image in his mindor the one hed invented. He couldnt even tell anymore.
His wife, though, looked nothing like Lily. Well, she chose *him*, really. Theyd been in the same uni group. Emma dated other blokesnot his type at all. But after their third year, they did a placement together at the same firm. Theyd walk home, chatting. Emma was from some tiny village, though she insisted it was a “town.”
In summer, the halls emptied. Most students left for placements back home, but Emma stayed. One evening, she invited George overshed made a “proper roast,” and no one to share it with.
Bored, he went. His mates had warned him: girls from the sticks would trap a bloke into marriage just to stay in the city. “Watch yourself, or next thing you know, youre hitched.”
The roast *was* goodbetter than his mums. Then came the inevitablethey ended up in bed. At the last second, George hesitated, but Emma swore she was on the pill. The rest of their placement flew by in a blur. He didnt love herhis attraction was purely physical, nothing like what hed felt for Lily.
Term started, and they barely spoke outside lectures. Then, a month later, she cornered him between buildings. “Im pregnant.”
“You said you were on the pill.”
“Missed a few. Never had a problem beforeuntil you.” She bit her lip. “Im scared to abort what if I cant have kids after?”
He pitied her. And, well, hed grown used to her over summer. He told his parents, introduced Emma. She helped lay the table, slipping his mum a few cooking tipswinning her over instantly.
“Such a practical girl. At least I wont worry about you starving, son.”
They married just before Christmaswhite dress, cake, daft games. Who even came up with the tradition of carrying brides over bridges? His mates ribbed him: “Wider steps, Georgie! Get used to marching like this for life.”
Emma was sturdy”a picture of health,” as they say. No waif, so it took effort, but he managed without embarrassing himself.
Thats when he *knew* he was trapped. Still, married life started fine. His parents scraped together a deposit for a one-bed flat. Emma nested, stocking the fridge. His mum praised her whenever she visited.
Then the baby came, and everything changed. Emma took a gap year. His mum, years from retirement, helped evenings when she could. George switched to part-time studies and got a job at the placement firm.
He shuffled to work half-asleep. Little Sophie was colicky, keeping them up nights. The second he got home, Emma thrust the wailing baby into his arms. But when his mum visited, magic happenedSophie quieted instantly in her arms, Emma napped, and his mum cooked while humming lullabies.
Leaving, shed murmur, “No rush for a second. *You* be careful, son.”
After marriage and the baby, Emma became militant about her pillseven waking at night to check shed taken one. Shouldve been that diligent earlier.
As Sophie grew, the flat shrank. Money was tight. George graduated, job-hoppedlow pay or dodgy schemes.
“Honest work doesnt pay. Others managelearn from them,” Emma snapped when he quit yet again.
But he couldnt compromise. He scraped by alone until Emma graduated, landing a PA jobdecent prospects, but still, two salaries werent enough.
“Fewer dresses might help,” he grumbled.
“Im the directors front face. *You* could earn more.”
She worked late oftenmeetings, clients. He seethed, fights became daily. Then one day: “Theres no point us staying together.”
“Youve got Sophie. You cant boot us out, and we cant swap this flat.”
“I expected this. You lasted longer than I thought.” He smirked. “Found someone richer?”
“If youd listened sooner, we wouldnt be here.”
“You never loved me. I was just your ticket out”
“Youve never lived rurally. Try hauling water and chopping wood.”
He laughedfinally admitting she was from a village.
“Pack my things. I might take extra otherwise.”
She did, neatly. He didnt go to his parentsrented a flat instead. So there he was: alone, homeless, paying child support. He drank nightly, his neighbour joining in.
“Lucky sod. Drink all you wantno wife pecking your head like a woodpecker.”
Yet when *his* wife called, hed scamper home.
After losing another job, George realised: quit drinking or hit rock bottom.
“Got any?” The neighbour groaned when George refused. “Guess not. Got a job leadneed to look sharp.”
“Right. Fine, Ill go then.”
That night, sobriety itched. He stared out as lights blinked off in distant windows.
A mate got him a courier gig at Amazon. One deliverya wardrobestopped him cold. The girl who answered looked like *Lily*.
“Do you assemble furniture?” she asked.
“Just delivery. Need help?” Fragile, tinyhe *ached* to help. “I could, after work.”
“Really? Ill pay whatever.”
“Eight-ish work?”
She haunted him all day. He ran late, even swung home to change. By the time he arrived, it was past nine.
“Sorrygot held up.”
“No worries. Come in.”
Two hours assembling. Her flat smelled of something delicioushis stomach growled. When done, she invited him to eat. He lived off takeaways and toast.
Her name was Daisy. He assumed she was a student, but she proudly said she worked. The job was done, dinner eatenno reason to stay. He refused payment. In the hallway, he fussed with his trainers, unwilling to leave the cosy flator her.
She waited. Finally, he zipped his jacket but lingered. Thenimpulsehe kissed her. Just lips brushing hers. She didnt pull away. So he kissed her properly.
“Sorry,” he muttered, fleeing.
He practically floated downstairs, grinning all the way home.
His neighbour pounced the second he walked in. “Took your time. Fancy a drink?”
“Gave it up. And no snacks either.”
Sighing, the neighbour left. George sat at the table, forcing Daisy from his mind. No future there.
But two days later, she called.
“Daisyfrom the wardrobe. I kept your number.”
“Everything okay? Did it collapse?”
“No! Just could you come over? Ive got” She hesitated.
“Something broken? Ill swing by after work.”
But when he arrived, she admitted nothing needed fixing. Shed just wanted to cook for himfigured he didnt eat well.
He studied her. “Daisy, Im not what you need. Divorced, paying child support, no flatleft it to my ex and kid.
